I open my eyes, still half asleep to see the light on in Charlie’s bathroom. My eyes squint to read the clock. It’s 3:50am. He’s leaving soon for the airport. In my sleepy state I can barely hear him moving around. My mind begins to entertain thoughts of being in the same state on Monday mornings when Rob would be getting ready to leave for South Carolina in the middle of the night. I hated waking up without him next to me, almost feeling like his being there was a dream in the first place.
I exhale, and drift off on a wave of sadness before my eyes close again and I fall back into sleep.
It’s 7:00am when my eyes are suddenly wide open, my heart is racing, and my mind is full of anxiety. I jump out of bed and get dressed. I’m moving as if I’m trying to run away from the uncomfortable feelings of being here without Rob, without Charlie, scrambling to find something to fill the void.
“Dishes.” I think to myself. I said I’d do the dishes before locking up his place and getting on with the day.
I try to move slowly, try to calm down but I can’t seem to get out from under the pressure I feel I’m pinned beneath. As I leave, I can’t decide whether or not I’m going to write in my journal or run. Once I’m outside, I decide coffee will cheer me up faster and if there’s time, then I’ll run.
I try to write. I suck down my Americano without tasting it. I’m fighting tears, fighting sadness, trying not to drown in it out of fear I won’t climb back out. Tomorrow will be eighteen months since Rob died. His birthday is Friday. What do I do with all of this?
Once the coffee is gone, I pick up some ice cream at a local grocery store. I’m already feeling the regret as I hand over the cash to pay for it. I haven’t done this in a while. I can’t believe I just forked over my hard earned money to hurt myself. What sense does that make? This ice cream…. Won’t bring Rob back, won’t ease the work stress, won’t make anything go away.
On my walk home I tell myself that I can throw it away. I don’t have to keep it, I don’t have to give in, but once I’m in the safe comfort of my apartment, I open it and sink into it’s cold, delicious flavored texture. It’s like scratching an itch. There’s relief at first then the itch wants more. Needs more pressure to relieve it. I keep scratching, feeling my brain spark with delight, wanting more and more. The scratching continues until what started out as relieving a simple little itch, has now turned into tearing into a gaping hole. It hurts, it’s screams and now, I’m stuck with it, waiting for it to heal.
I come out of my food induced high with the same sadness I woke up with plus anger as explosive as a bomb.
“Dammit.” I toss the container into the trash and go into my room to pull on my running clothes.
“What the hell was that?” I ask myself as the wind tears at my face while my feet pound the pavement. “What did that accomplish?”
I have no answers. I finish my run, and get dressed for work. My anger is still there and I’m hiding behind it to keep the sadness away. I feel an insatiable need to take care of myself, to stop giving in when food wants attention, I just don’t know how to climb out again. I think I’m just going to have sit down here and let all this wash over me. I’ll try it again. I’ll try to let the sadness come through, feel it, address it, and take one more step forward. I didn’t get to this point over night. Eighteen months didn’t happen in twenty four hours…
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Promotion...
Lately, I’ve felt everything has been on fast forward. I looked up from the tedious day-in and day-out details of my life to see that six months has gone by since I’ve so much as glanced at my little space out here in the middle of the internet. I must say I haven’t been really inspired to write but today I felt the mood strike and decided to, in a familiar, almost reluctant way, sit still and do one of the things I love most. Why I withhold writing from myself with my long list of excuses and distractions, I’ll never know…
I’m happy to say that I still live in the precious apartment I first moved into when I moved to Chicago. I’ve collected a small group of wonderful friends and am happy in my relationship with Charlie. We’ve just celebrated eight fabulous months. While we agree neither of us have a clue as to what to do with each other provided this relationship thing is new to both of us, I’ve managed to slip from my quiet little existence by myself and fall ridiculously in love with someone who has managed to (unbeknownst to him) compliment and enhance my life in ways I never thought possible or could imagine. It isn’t the brand new, timid, fumbling spring chicken kind of love I had in high school, or the rabid, insatiable, profoundly intense love I shared with Rob but a secure, mature love running deeper than I ever thought possible. It makes me happier is ways I never expected.
It’s been nearly a year since I started work at Art+Science salon. I’m starting to finish up with class, which means moving up from assisting to being a stylist, which means time is closing in around the decision that will be made as to which salon I’ll be placed at. Currently, as an assistant, I bounce from location to location. There are three salons, one in Wicker Park (where I live) one in Lincoln Park and one outside the city in Evanston.
Wicker Park is my first choice along with everyone else. It’s closest to my house and all around fabulous. Since my first day though, I’ve had a feeling I’d be placed in Evanston, much to my dismay. The salon reminds me of Van Michael. It’s huge, loud, busy and far from where I live. I don’t want to repeat that time in my life. In Atlanta, Buckhead raped my soul, made me an angry, compulsive eating, personality disordered wreck and I refuse to go back to being that person. Ultimately, I have little control over where I’m going to be placed. This has made me nervous as I’m reaching for muffins and sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear where I’ll make my new professional home. The only thing I can do is voice my opinion and wait.
So I do. I meet with several managers and explain my concerns. I feel as if they’re listening and understanding which is all I really want but I still have a nagging feeling that Wicker Park isn’t in the cards for me and I’m going to have to be ok with that. Even as I prayed, and talked to Rob about it I feel like I’m being told something…something I don’t want to hear but would ultimately be a blessing in disguise.
I had just put my things down and clocked in at Lincoln Park when I saw I had missed a call from our education director, Paul. His voicemail was short, asking me to call him back. I dial the number and wait.
“Hello?” He picked up quickly.
“Hey Paul! It’s Melissa. How are you?” I smile and rake my fingers through my hair.
“I’m good! How are you?”
“Good.” I’m still smiling out of fear of what will happen if I stop. This is really about to happen. Eleven months after working here, I’m about to find out where I’m going to be placed. Right? There’s no other reason for him to call…
“So I’m calling to tell you that we’ve come to a decision about where you’ll be placed.” he begins.
“Yeah?” I inhale and suddenly my brain is reeling backward to a time where I was standing on a train platform after my first interview, Rob’s voice in my ear congratulating me on setting up my second interview with Art+Science. That image is replaced with him telling me over the phone again the night before that interview, to be myself, have fun and they’ll hire me on the spot. After being questioned by eleven people I was hired right then. I’ll never be able to describe what it felt like that day in front of them. I don’t recognize that girl when I look back. She was on the edge of her seat, animated, laughing, honest, unafraid of what questions she may have to answer. She felt they would accept her if she let her guard down. So she stepped out of her comfy little box and let them see her…
I felt so much love I could barely comprehend it. I have no idea where it came from. These people didn’t know me, Rob was still in South Carolina but it was like he was sitting there with me through all of it.
Fast forward through eleven months of climbing back in the box, bouncing from salon to salon, racing from client to client, rinsing color, blowdrying, sweeping hair, feeding parking meters, hauling out the trash, long days, short days, scrambling to find models, rain, snow, sunshine, watching my hands and sanity disintegrate, pushing through it when I wanted to sink until I drowned, sometimes crawling through the day just to reach the end. I have finally reached a light at the end of a long tunnel.
Paul’s sentences become fragments as I struggle to comprehend his words while replaying the past.
“We really wanted you… no room… you would do well anywhere…”
I’m nodding until I hear it.
“Evanston.” he says and I exhale.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I hear him smile. “You’re going to do great.”
We hang up shortly after and I look around the break room trying to identify my feelings. I don’t know yet. I feel my heart begin to race. My head is swimming. It’s plotting out the upcoming work I’ll have to put in to bringing in new clients, asking myself how am I going to set myself apart? How am I going to be creative in bringing in these new people? I think about my commute, how I’ll handle days where it’s minus whatever outside, or ninety, I imagine my clientele and what they’ll be like, what I’ll learn from them, and what I’ll give back to them.
All these thoughts happen in thirty seconds before I pick up the phone and call Charlie. I can’t sit still with it right now.
“Hi!” I exclaim when he picks up. “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh really?”
“I just (inhale, exhale) got a call from Paul. I’ve been placed in Evanston.”
“How do you feel about it?” he asks.
“I’m ok. I’m not surprised or anything.”
“You’re gonna be making actual money!” I hear him smile.
“You’re right!” I laugh.
“Are you going to move up there? he asks.
“Hell no! Are you kidding? I have everything I want where I live. There’s no way I’m moving.”
We’re quiet for a second before I continue. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s actually here.”
“You’re gonna do just fine up there.” he reminds me.
We get off the phone shortly after and I go to fold towels. My head is still swimming wondering how life would be if Rob were still here, what he would say to my news. He sees a bigger picture now. I think it’s why I’m not freaking out. I know he’s here with me and wouldn’t steer me in a wrong direction. I can almost feel him, can almost touch him if only I knew which direction to reach out in…
I’m happy to say that I still live in the precious apartment I first moved into when I moved to Chicago. I’ve collected a small group of wonderful friends and am happy in my relationship with Charlie. We’ve just celebrated eight fabulous months. While we agree neither of us have a clue as to what to do with each other provided this relationship thing is new to both of us, I’ve managed to slip from my quiet little existence by myself and fall ridiculously in love with someone who has managed to (unbeknownst to him) compliment and enhance my life in ways I never thought possible or could imagine. It isn’t the brand new, timid, fumbling spring chicken kind of love I had in high school, or the rabid, insatiable, profoundly intense love I shared with Rob but a secure, mature love running deeper than I ever thought possible. It makes me happier is ways I never expected.
It’s been nearly a year since I started work at Art+Science salon. I’m starting to finish up with class, which means moving up from assisting to being a stylist, which means time is closing in around the decision that will be made as to which salon I’ll be placed at. Currently, as an assistant, I bounce from location to location. There are three salons, one in Wicker Park (where I live) one in Lincoln Park and one outside the city in Evanston.
Wicker Park is my first choice along with everyone else. It’s closest to my house and all around fabulous. Since my first day though, I’ve had a feeling I’d be placed in Evanston, much to my dismay. The salon reminds me of Van Michael. It’s huge, loud, busy and far from where I live. I don’t want to repeat that time in my life. In Atlanta, Buckhead raped my soul, made me an angry, compulsive eating, personality disordered wreck and I refuse to go back to being that person. Ultimately, I have little control over where I’m going to be placed. This has made me nervous as I’m reaching for muffins and sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear where I’ll make my new professional home. The only thing I can do is voice my opinion and wait.
So I do. I meet with several managers and explain my concerns. I feel as if they’re listening and understanding which is all I really want but I still have a nagging feeling that Wicker Park isn’t in the cards for me and I’m going to have to be ok with that. Even as I prayed, and talked to Rob about it I feel like I’m being told something…something I don’t want to hear but would ultimately be a blessing in disguise.
I had just put my things down and clocked in at Lincoln Park when I saw I had missed a call from our education director, Paul. His voicemail was short, asking me to call him back. I dial the number and wait.
“Hello?” He picked up quickly.
“Hey Paul! It’s Melissa. How are you?” I smile and rake my fingers through my hair.
“I’m good! How are you?”
“Good.” I’m still smiling out of fear of what will happen if I stop. This is really about to happen. Eleven months after working here, I’m about to find out where I’m going to be placed. Right? There’s no other reason for him to call…
“So I’m calling to tell you that we’ve come to a decision about where you’ll be placed.” he begins.
“Yeah?” I inhale and suddenly my brain is reeling backward to a time where I was standing on a train platform after my first interview, Rob’s voice in my ear congratulating me on setting up my second interview with Art+Science. That image is replaced with him telling me over the phone again the night before that interview, to be myself, have fun and they’ll hire me on the spot. After being questioned by eleven people I was hired right then. I’ll never be able to describe what it felt like that day in front of them. I don’t recognize that girl when I look back. She was on the edge of her seat, animated, laughing, honest, unafraid of what questions she may have to answer. She felt they would accept her if she let her guard down. So she stepped out of her comfy little box and let them see her…
I felt so much love I could barely comprehend it. I have no idea where it came from. These people didn’t know me, Rob was still in South Carolina but it was like he was sitting there with me through all of it.
Fast forward through eleven months of climbing back in the box, bouncing from salon to salon, racing from client to client, rinsing color, blowdrying, sweeping hair, feeding parking meters, hauling out the trash, long days, short days, scrambling to find models, rain, snow, sunshine, watching my hands and sanity disintegrate, pushing through it when I wanted to sink until I drowned, sometimes crawling through the day just to reach the end. I have finally reached a light at the end of a long tunnel.
Paul’s sentences become fragments as I struggle to comprehend his words while replaying the past.
“We really wanted you… no room… you would do well anywhere…”
I’m nodding until I hear it.
“Evanston.” he says and I exhale.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I hear him smile. “You’re going to do great.”
We hang up shortly after and I look around the break room trying to identify my feelings. I don’t know yet. I feel my heart begin to race. My head is swimming. It’s plotting out the upcoming work I’ll have to put in to bringing in new clients, asking myself how am I going to set myself apart? How am I going to be creative in bringing in these new people? I think about my commute, how I’ll handle days where it’s minus whatever outside, or ninety, I imagine my clientele and what they’ll be like, what I’ll learn from them, and what I’ll give back to them.
All these thoughts happen in thirty seconds before I pick up the phone and call Charlie. I can’t sit still with it right now.
“Hi!” I exclaim when he picks up. “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh really?”
“I just (inhale, exhale) got a call from Paul. I’ve been placed in Evanston.”
“How do you feel about it?” he asks.
“I’m ok. I’m not surprised or anything.”
“You’re gonna be making actual money!” I hear him smile.
“You’re right!” I laugh.
“Are you going to move up there? he asks.
“Hell no! Are you kidding? I have everything I want where I live. There’s no way I’m moving.”
We’re quiet for a second before I continue. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s actually here.”
“You’re gonna do just fine up there.” he reminds me.
We get off the phone shortly after and I go to fold towels. My head is still swimming wondering how life would be if Rob were still here, what he would say to my news. He sees a bigger picture now. I think it’s why I’m not freaking out. I know he’s here with me and wouldn’t steer me in a wrong direction. I can almost feel him, can almost touch him if only I knew which direction to reach out in…
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